Innocent Fugitive
by MehItsAutumn
Summary: First fic, Tobias centric story about him running away and finding healing through mentors guiding and encouraging him, eventual four/tris but not for a while. I do not own divergent or the characters, the lovely Veronica Roth does.


It's freezing and I long for a nice warm blanket. I always did get cold at night, but a blanket didn't manage to make it into my backpack, too bulky. If I would have grabbed a blanket I may not have had room for my first aid kit or my granola bars. I choose food and antiseptic cream over warmth, it was probably a wise decision. Once the train gets moving I will figure out how to warm myself, but until then I will curl into a tight ball around my backpack, thankful that I will not starve or get an infection and I drift off into sleep hoping that the life I just escaped will not seep its way into my dreams.

That hope was in vain. Even when I lived in the house my living torment visited my sleeping self as well. Now I was free, or so I hoped, but in my dream I was ten years old and Dad was still Dad, sometimes. He yelled at me, which was becoming a more common thing, I forgot what I did, but he would remind me. At this age, in this memory, I viewed Marcus as strict and firm, but not abusive. He was abusive, but I didn't see it. He kept me away from other kids my age and told me that other kids get hit for their wrong deeds as well. Which I am sure is true, but he was excessive. At the age of eight I was familiar with his belt across my back. He did still have the rare tender fatherly moments and he always reminded me how bad I was and how the beating was a lesson to remind me not to repeat my mistake, so at ten I did not view the belt as abuse, it was correction and in my twisted mind deserved, but it still haunted my dreams. This frequent nightmare was a specific instance that I passed out from the pain, in our backyard, in December, surrounded by the cruel Chicago snow. I'm lucky I didn't get pneumonia.

I wake in a panicked state like always, especially after that nightmare. I usually wake up feeling cold after that dream so for a moment I forget that I fell asleep outside, in a train car, during January. I feel a light kick against my leg, Marcus sometimes wakes me by kicking me, but never softly and usually on my side or arm. This cannot be real. Why is the kick so light and hesitant? He never hesitates to cause me pain. Then I remember that this is not my bedroom and the person kicking me is not my father. I ran away, I am in the cargo section of a train, illegally, but I could no longer pretend that everything is alright in our humble home. I am not that selfless.

I open my eyes first to darkness, then to the blinding light of a flashlight. I feel the somewhat angry looking man gently kick my leg again to wake me. How could he be angry and gentle? Anger is an emotion to be feared, anger brings nothing but pain. I hiss as I roll over from my side to my back. The welts are too recent. Marcus always says it is a reminder of the lesson he taught me, but I must push Marcus far from my mind. I do not remember my crime, but he does not care. I have come to realize that I did nothing to deserve this pain. The things I got horrendous beatings for other kids would get a stern reprimand and at most grounded for. He never cared that I deserved better and that hurts worse than my stinging back.

"Hey, kid wake up, you aren't supposed to be here. Go home your parents are probably worried sick about you." His voice had a strange mix of irritation, confusion, and concern. I hold my urge to groan again. He doesn't know my life, of my father's loving concern, of what he does for my good, well what he did, because if I have my way I will never see Marcus Eaton again.

I groggily attempted my reply, "Don't worry. They aren't." I considered for a second to show him the results of my father's most recent concern, I greeted his dinner guest, who arrived early, when I was supposed to be in my room and somehow that earned me ten lashes, but I am in no mood for pity. The less he knows the better, I need to escape, leave Chicago, leave my father, and leave my past. No one can know what happens behind closed doors. That is why I am not seen in public often.

The newspapers cannot run a story about the mayor's son constantly fighting, for that was always Marcus' cover story. I believe he chose that story because it paints me in a negative light in the public eye. Once he even beat me for my negative public appearance. Who would the media believe, the dutiful mayor of Chicago, who lovingly and selflessly raised his son alone after the abrupt death of his caring wife or Tobias, the kid who was kicked out of public schools, rejected by the private ones (more of my father's lies to explain why I was homeschooled, when the real reason is to have less witnesses to my bruised and broken body) the kid who gets into trouble and picks fights. Who would they believe? Certainly not me. In a battle of his word against mine, I lose and then receive the worst beating of my life. So no one can ever know who I am because I don't think I would survive Marcus' anger at my return.

The man rubs the back of his neck and sighs, "Kid do you even know where you are going?"

I want to snap and yell something along the lines of anywhere but here, but I remember two things my mother told me: it is easier to catch flies with honey and Virginia is for lovers. My life has had enough hate in it during my last 15, no scratch that, today is my birthday, my last 16 years to last a lifetime. "Well I think my mom's side of the family lived in Virginia, but honestly I don't care as long as it is somewhere safer than here."

"It isn't safe to trespass a ride on the cargo hold so we can figure something else out. Come on, leaving this train is for your own good." He grabs my arm and lifts me up as I groan in pain. He is grabbing me where Marcus always grabbed me so there always seems to be a bruise there. I don't know what came over me when I react, but I push him away from me and yell.

"Stop! Please don't!" in this moment I was no longer on a train, but in my house, there wasn't a stranger in front of me there, but my father wielding his belt. I get down and hug my knees in an effort to protect my face from the lashes, when I realized they never fell I look up. I left that room and that situation and I ran away. I ran to the train station and picked a train. I hopped aboard a cargo hold and went to sleep. I was awoken by a security guard, oh God, the security guard grabbed my arm and my mind was transported. I didn't want his pity or judgment but I probably have both by now.

"Whoa there kid, I'm not gonna hurt you. In fact I will get you a ticket to Richmond and I have a friend there that will get you on your feet. Plus I can't let you stay in the cargo section and I sure as hell can't send you home. Who gave you that shiner kid?" I look down as he mentions the black eye, so he saw that, how did I forget that it was there, I was too concerned with the escape to try and hide the truth, which judging by his tone, he knew or at least suspected that the person in charge of my care is responsible for my injuries. I almost mutter the usual half truth that I got into a fight. It was a one sided fight and the odds weren't fair, but I guess you could call being a living punching bag as participating in a fight. Technically I did try to fight back, this time, and that is why I received the worst beating of my life last night. That was the last straw and I left in the early afternoon when Marcus was still at work, after his phone call to check up on me to give myself more time. I lied and told him I was going over to the Prior's to talk to my mentor Andrew, this would give me a few more hours. I usually stayed well past dinner just sitting in Andrews study talking with him. He would let me selfishly gripe about my father being unfair in his expectations, I never told him about the abuse, he was my father's friend and coworker after all, and he would ask me about my future, my hopes and dreams and plans. I briefly met his kids at a work party a few years back and that led to me being mentored by Andrew Prior. This is beside the point, I was consumed with my plan, getting my escape money and finding the perfect leaving time and hiding the spare keys to the old pickup truck so I could use it to get away.

"I can pay for it myself," I mumble as he helps me up. Standing jostled my back and I winced in pain. I didn't bother to suppress my pain like normal. He already knows enough, who cares if his suspicions get confirmed.

"Sure you can, that is why you were sneaking in the cargo cart, headed the wrong direction, I might add. This train is headed for Detroit."

"Detroit is better than here." I mumbled sullenly.

"Let's go to my office and we'll get ready to go to Richmond."

"We? I am alright on my own." I was starting to feel defensive. I don't need some stranger's pity. I just need to leave this city and the reminders of my father's torture.

"Johanna would kill me if I sent an injured kid to her by himself."

**A/N playlist for this chapter**

**1. Chicago- The Uglysuit**

**A/N 2 Please give suggestions, review what you liked, didn't like etc. Make me a better writer!**

**Thanks for reading!**


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